


look how we've grown

by bluesey



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9475664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesey/pseuds/bluesey
Summary: It's stupid, really, that he feels the same way about her four years later. They've both changed, grown up a bit, but she's still Maya, still the same in the ways that matter.(or, Lucas comes back home to his small town after being away a few years and is still, unsurprisingly, in love with Maya.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is dedicated to serena, who wanted angsty lucas pining over maya with a boyfriend. hope this is okay, sorry it's so late <3

Lucas comes back in the beginning of the summer after he graduates, when the sun always seems to be shining and the marigolds and the daffodils are already in bloom. He doesn't tell anyone that he’s here, that he's back in his hometown, mostly because he's not sure exactly how'd they take the news. But he's sure he'll run into his old friends sooner rather than later.

Even though he’s been gone for four years, everything's still the same, still familiar in the way small towns usually are when you come back to them. He remembers all the shortcuts and back roads to get to his old house where he knows his momma will be waiting with peach iced tea and a midnight snack. He can almost smell the cinnamon in her snickerdoodles from the driveway.

Lucas wipes his shoes of the dirt and gravel on the welcome mat before sliding the key in the door, trailing his suitcases in after him. He's not surprised that everything in here stayed the same as well: the potted plants and the bench swing on the porch, the floral carpet in the foyer sent from his grandmother before she died, the vague scent of his grandfather’s cigarettes and his mother’s jasmine perfume.

She greets him with a hug that steals his breath, shoving a plateful of buttered biscuits his way, asking him all about his time in New York. He sits in the love seat across from her, its cushions so soft it threatens to swallow him. It used to be his favorite and he'd almost asked her if he could take it with him to New York, a piece of his home he could keep.

He spends hours talking to his momma, only stopping when her eyes were getting heavy and bleary, and sent her to bed with a promise to talk more in the morning.

“Missed you, sweet pea,” she murmurs with a hand on his cheek before climbing up the stairs.

“Hey, ma,” he calls out, hands in his pockets as he rolls onto his toes. “Is he asleep?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he's had a long day,” she answers with a hesitant smile. “You'll see him in the morning.”

He nods, and heads to his own room. It's been untouched since he left it, his trophies still on the top shelf, his posters of the Dallas cowgirls still hanging up on the wall. He's brought everything from his apartment in New York back, still in the trunk of his car, and it feels like he's just taken a step backward. He moved to New York for college, was planning on staying there for vet school, but plans don't always happen the way you want them to, so now he's back here. In his childhood home with his parents.

He can hear voices carrying into the crack in his door, and he doesn't sleep easy that night.

*

His momma makes him breakfast early the next morning, eggs benedict and bacon, and he eats it up too quickly, savoring every last bite. New York’s got nothing on Anne Friar’s cooking.

She's leaning against the counter, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she looks him over, a small smile on her face. “You should go out into town today. See all the new stuff we got since you've been gone.”

His eyebrows lift as he takes a generous gulp of the freshly squeezed orange juice. “Yeah? Like what?”

“Restaurants, book stores,” she says, shrugs. “Stuff like that. You remember Riley Matthews?”

He nods. Of course he does. She'd been one of his best friends before he left.

“She opened up a flower shop last year. You know – right next to Topanaga’s bakery? Her mother got her that place, but it's real nice.”

He'd heard about it, seen pictures on Facebook of her surrounded by assortments of flowers standing next to a _Now Hiring!_ sign. He'd wanted to comment that he was proud of her because he knew she’d been struggling on deciding whether to continue with journalism or not. But he hadn't spoken to her, to anyone, in such a long time that he didn't think it was his place anymore.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll check it out,” he says easily, biting off a piece of bacon.

“Have you…” she starts after a few moments of silence. She clears her throat and tries again, shifting her weight on her other leg. “Have you talked to any of your…friends?”

Lucas thinks he knows where she's going with this and he's not ready for that yet, so he stands up and puts his dishes in the sink. “No,” he answers, scrubbing the plates clean. “Not since a little after I left.”

“You should,” she tells him, her voice soft. “They were your best friends, Lucas.”

“I know,” he says. “I will.” He leans down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m gonna go walk around for a bit. I'll come back around lunch.”

He finds Pappy Joe sitting out on the porch, rocking back and forth on an old, creaky wooden chair with a cigarette in his mouth. Lucas rolls his eyes. “Are you trying to die faster?”

His grandfather’s eyes slide to him and he grunts. “’Bout time you got back.”

“That why you had a heart attack? You missed me that much, old man?” he teases, nudging his shoulder. “Coulda just called, you know.”

“So could you.”

He grows quiet at that, his guilt clawing at his throat. “Well, I’m here now.”

“Managed to make your mother happy.”

He fights the urge to ask, _And you?_  but he doesn't want to let himself be disappointed so he tells him he's going into town, that he'll see him later.

Lucas drops by the farmer’s market first, gives a wave to anyone that's recognized him. It's a small town, where everybody knows everybody, so it takes a little bit longer to get what he wanted to get here and leave. He knows the news of his arrival will spark some gossip, the entire town wondering the reason why the country boy who had been trying to make it into the big city came back and didn't bother to tell anyone.

“Lucas! Hey, asshole!”

He turns around with the bags in his hands to see Zay Babineaux making his way towards him with a wide grin.

“Hey, man, I had no idea you'd be in town so soon,” he greets, giving him a friendly slap on the back. He's wearing a green apron around his waist so he must be working in one of the kiosks. “When you mentioned it I thought it would be the next year.”

“Yeah, I just came back last night,” he tells him. “Sorry I didn't tell you guys.”

Out of all his friends, Zay’s the one he kept in contact with the longest. They'd bonded in the sixth grade when they found out that they'd both been born in Texas, and had been inseparable ever since. Lucas still talked to Zay while he'd been in New York, mostly because Zay was relentless and refused to give up communication.

“No worries,” he replies with a shrug. “Are you staying here for a while or just visiting?”

“Staying, I think,” he answers and switches the bag in his hand to the other when he’d began to lose circulation on his wrist.

“Cool. You should come out to Topanga’s tonight. It's poetry night. We'll get drinks after,” he says. This is, he remembers, why he likes Zay so much. He never asks questions, always waits until you're ready to talk.

“Sounds good. Just text me whenever,” he agrees before they say goodbye, and he feels a little bit lighter than he had earlier. Like maybe seeing everyone from before won't be so bad after all.

*

The flower shop next to Topanga’s, cutely named _Good Morning, Glory,_ is small but quaint. The smell is just as overwhelming as the sight of it, all those flowers he doesn't know the names of, only that they're beautiful, like a little bright spot of hope in this town.

He sees her before she notices he's there. She's bending over a bouquet of tulips and daisies, concentrating on arranging them in some way that makes sense to her but not to him.

“I'll be right with you,” she calls out to him when the bell on the door rang.

“Take your time,” he says. “I'll be here for a while.”

Riley’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice and she spins around on her heel, her dress swishing against her knees. There's a smile on her face, her eyes bright, as she skips over to him and throws her arms around him.

“ _Lucas!_ What on earth are you doing here? I mean, not that I’m not happy about you being here – because I am, I promise, I’m just – “

“It’s okay,” he interjects, holding up his hand to get her to slow down on her rambling. “I just got back. Thought I’d see how you were doing and congratulate you on your shop.”

Her smile grows, which Lucas didn't think was possible, but it makes him feel better. “I didn't think it was really going to work out, you know, opening up my own flower shop. But it's been good so far. Business is good. And of course my mom helps out a lot, Auggie too, when he wants. And – “ She stops then, waving her hands in a sort of dismissal. “Anyway. Tell me how you've been.”

He tells her the cliff notes version, that New York was good, vet school didn't work out up there, but he's here now, and he's missed them, and he can't wait to see everyone else.

“Have you seen Maya yet?” she asks, and, even after all this time, his heart still stutters at the sound of her name.

“Ah.” He clears his throat, stuffs his hand in his pockets. “No. Not yet.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure she'll turn up around here somewhere.” The bell rings again and he sees Charlie Gardner walk in so he figures this conversation is over. Riley leans close to whisper something to him. “He's been coming in every week; I’m starting to think he has some kind of ulterior motive.”

She rolls her eyes but he sees the faint blush on her cheeks.

“Hey, we’ll see you later, right?” she asks as she starts towards the register, snapping off her gloves. “Zay’s doing a reading of his poem tonight, I'm sure you've heard. It's gonna be fun.”

“Yeah. See you then.” He waves goodbye to Riley and Charlie, who drops him a nod, and leaves the shop. He'd decided to go back home and rest a while before going back out tonight, dreading thinking about how he still has yet to unpack all of his stuff from its boxes. And then –

And then of course that's when he sees her.

 

She's climbing out of an old and rusted pale blue pick up truck with chipped paint, its bed full of crates of all sorts of potted flowers. It makes something in his chest ache, seeing her in just a white tank top and blue jeans, her hair loose and wild around her shoulders. She's exactly as he imagined her to be, four years later.

He doesn't know if he wants to talk to her just yet, doesn't know if he can, but she spots him before he can make that decision for himself. She stops short, her face frozen in an unreadable expression. But then she grins. And the ache in his chest softens.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she drawls in an accent he knows she's doing just for him. She tilts her head up and uses her hand to shield her eyes from the sun as he stops in front of her. “If it isn't the cowboy Lucas Friar himself. You get lost or something? I'm pretty sure New York is, hm, a hop, skip, and a couple hours by plane North of here.”

“Good to see you too, Maya,” he says, a smile involuntarily slipping on his face as he steps closer. “The warm welcome is appreciated.”

She looks him over not too subtly and crosses her arms under her chest, biting her lip as if in thought. “Guess I shouldn't be calling you cowboy anymore, huh? You wear ties and stuff now? Carry six phones with you at all times and answer none of them?”

He just rolls his eyes. “Yes, you've got me completely figured out.”

“Doesn't matter where you are, though,” she continues as she takes a step closer, inclining her head back so she can keep looking at him, “you'll always be a huckleberry.”

Her hair is still golden, her eyes still so blue, her smile still as sharp as he remembered. “Some things never change, I guess,” he replies, his voice quiet, because it kinda feels like he's got the wind knocked right out of him. The one he thing he figures he’s forgotten in all that time he's been away, is how off-kilter she makes him feel. Especially when she's smiling at him like that.

She drops him a wink before turning around on her heel, her hair whipping him in the face, and opens up the trunk of her truck. “Places to be and all that. See you around, cowboy.”

“You know where to find me, right?” He sounds desperate even to his own ears.

He sees her smile as she drags out a crate, resting it against her hip. “Heard through the grapevine that you just got back last night. How long you planning on staying? Just so, you know, I don't show up and find out that you've left again with a proper goodbye to everyone except me.”

His smile falters and he rubs the back of his neck. “I'm not – I’m not leaving. I'm applying to med school here. It's only a half hour away, close to the city, so…this is it. I'm here for good.”

Maya gives him a nod and a tight smile. “Good.” She turns then, to make her way to the shop. “Don't be a stranger.”

*

When Lucas gets back home, the house is quiet so he figures his mother’s in the garden and his father’s taking his afternoon nap. He spends the next few hours unpacking after he's brought in the last of his boxes and his suitcases from the car, folding clothes into his drawer and placing the framed pictures he took with him back on his desk.

After he's finished, he lays on his bed and waits for Zay’s text to come in. He tries not to think about the likely possibility that he'll have to see Maya again tonight, but it's just about the only thing he can think of now that he's got nothing to do to keep himself busy.

It's around seven when Zay texts him to meet up at Topanga’s, so he gets ready, and leaves with a goodbye to his mother, ignoring her knowing look.

Instead of driving there, he decides to take the longer route and walk off his nerves. He hadn’t expected his friends to be as welcoming and understanding as they had been, especially considering that they don't know the whole story, but maybe he should give them a bit more credit. They've always been good people, good friends, even when he thought he's done nothing to deserve it.

Zay’s already up on stage by the time he gets there so he quietly slides into the seat next to Smackle and Farkle, who gives him a nod and a half smile as a greeting. Riley and Maya are sitting on the couch across from them and he steals a quick glance at Maya before focusing his attention on Zay.

It's a heavy piece about police brutality and growing up in a place that only cared about one skin color, and it wasn't his. It moved people to tears, wiping the ends of their noses on their collar before snapping their approval as he stepped off the stage. They murmur _good job's_  at him as he takes a seat near by and he nods at Lucas, cuffing the back of his neck in a greeting like they used to do.

“You do this a lot?” Lucas asks him as a girl takes the stage next. He's never been one for poetry, or anything that deals with the creative side of the brain, but he knows it's something that's always been important to his friends, so he supports that.

“As much as I can,” he answers. “And what's better at getting a message across than through art, right?”

He agrees, and then: “I’m just glad you weren't up there with a turtleneck and a beret.”

After, they hit up the bar where he learns that this has become one of the group’s favorite spots to come and unwind after classes or work. Farkle and Smackle had decided to go home since they had an early start the next morning doing whatever the fuck it is that they do in a laboratory, so Riley dragged Zay to the dance floor, letting him dip her low and spin her around in circles. Maya's sitting alone at the bar, running her finger along the lip of an empty glass as she makes small talk with the bar tender. Lucas decides now’s probably a good time to stop thinking about how her dress has a slit that goes up her thigh and finally talk to her.

He steals the bartender’s attention and asks for a beer as he slides into the stool next to her, doesn't speak until he comes back with his drink so he'll have something his hands can hold onto.

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to ask you about New York?” Maya chimes in when she figured he isn't going to.

The corner of his mouth lifts. “If you want to.”

The bartender refills her glass and she knocks it back with ease. She swivels on her seat, her knee knocking into his thigh and he takes a pull of his beer so he doesn't stare too long at the cut of her dress. “Tell me the bad parts. So I can be an asshole and rub it in your face that that's what you get for leaving.”

It surprises a laugh out of him, so he tells her. “The third year was the worst,” he starts with a shake of his head, grabbing a few pistachios from the small bowl the bartender left out. “I hated all of my classes. I spent all my time in the campus library studying for exams. It was exhausting; I didn't take a shower for four days straight during finals week. And my roommates were terrible. Worse than the ones I had at the dorms, who left dirty underwear in the kitchen and hair clogged in the sink. And then I didn't have a car for a semester because mine broke down, so I had to take the bus everyday. I thought about dropping out all the time. High school doesn't prepare you for any of that shit.”

“You must've been miserable,” she says with a smile on her face that makes him rolls his eyes. She gently nudges her knee against his. “Now tell me the good stuff.”

Lucas tells her that it was pretty much stressful the whole time, but there were some good moments tucked between all of the bad ones. Like interning at a vet center and being able to help animals. The weekends he got to go out and act like a normal teenage boy for a couple hours. Or that time he accidentally locked himself out of his dorm his freshman year and a girl with a pretty smile let him stay in hers while he waited for the RA to come help him.

“Got a lot of girlfriends up there?” she asks. She gives him a sly grin, her head tilted in his direction.

He searches her eyes for – anything. Anything that might give her away, but she's completely nonchalant. “One. Didn't really work out too well.” Her smile slips a bit, but he interjects before she can say anything about it. “So you work for Riley now?”

By the look on her face, he knows she got the hint and complies to his unsubtle change of subject. For now, at least. “No, I just help out on occasion since I’m the very best friend anyone could ever ask for in the entire universe.”

“Last I heard you were going to open up your own gallery to sell your art,” he says. Lucas has always been vocal about how proud he is of her work, always told her that before he left, that he can see her going far with it. “How's that going?”

She shakes her head and laughs, a little self-deprecating. “Haven't gotten that far yet, but there's a gallery here that's showing some of my stuff. Maybe I can take you some time?”

“Yeah,” he agrees and swallows thickly. His hands have a mind of their own and he has to constantly tell himself not to reach for her, not to tuck that wandering strand of spun gold hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I’d really love that.”

“Awesome,” she says with a grin that almost blinds him. He finishes his beer and asks for another one. He doesn't know how many drinks she's had but the bartender brings her another cocktail and she chugs that down quickly. Picking out the cherry from the top, she glances at him. “Hey, watch this.”

She bites the cherry off and spits out the seed, sticking the stem in her mouth. He watches for a few moments as she moves the stem around, a flash of her teeth here, a furrow of her brow there, until she sticks her tongue out to show him the knot.

He can't seriously believe he's blushing because of this.

“I’ve been practicing,” Maya says proudly, her eyes wide and bright, her cheeks flush. She holds out another cherry for him. “Your turn, cowboy; show me what you got.”

“I'm good, I actually wanted to –“ He clears his throat, shifts in his seat. “Maya, I have to – “

“Uh oh,” she says and giggles, spitting the knot onto a napkin and places a hand on his bicep. “You sound serious. Are you gonna be serious? Maybe you should have another drink; this is not the right time for your melodrama.” She gives him a funny look then, her eyes dropping to his arm, and squeezes lightly. “Okay, whoa. Have you been working out?”

A voice stops him from answering. “Hey, is this girl bothering you? Should I get security?”

He's about to say  _n_ _ot interested_ but he sees Maya roll her eyes and drop her hand right before a boy Lucas has never seen before saddles up next to her and drapes an arm across her shoulders, pulling her close to press a kiss to her temple.

“Lucas, this is my super annoying boyfriend Jordan,” she says, but he misses most of it because of the roaring in his ears. He realizes just how stupid he'd been to actually think a girl like Maya could still be single. Or that she's been _waiting_ for him. “Jordan, this is my super annoying friend Lucas. This is great, actually; I'm glad you guys can be super annoying as a unit now.”

“Ah,” Jordan hums, and nods his head, sticking out his hand for Lucas. Do people still shake hands? He doesn't remember, but he takes it anyway. He's got a nice, firm grip and he doesn't think about that other nice, firm grip on Maya’s shoulder. “Heard a lot about you.”

“Can't say the same about you,” he says before his brain can tell his mouth to shut up. “Sorry, I mean – “

Jordan laughs easily. “No worries, man. It's nice to finally meet you. I can promise you Maya has only ever said good things.”

“For some reason I find that hard to believe.”

Maya grins cheekily at him.

Jordan turns to her, leans down a bit so he can reach her ear. “How drunk are you, babe?”

“Not much that drunk.”

The grin Jordan gives her splits his face in half, like a crack in the earth that lets all the light out. Lucas finds that it's difficult to look away, no matter how much he wants to. “Try again.”

“Okay,” she concedes. “Just a lil bit. Just this much.” She pinches her index and thumb finger together, leaving a small space between as indication. “Hey, since when do you have a twin?”

“Are you up for dancing or do you need to go home?” he asks her after a fond roll of his eyes.

 _Home._ God, do they live together?

And what the fuck happened to the air in this place?

“Let’s dance.” Maya hops down from her stool and pats Lucas on his thigh before straightening up to adjust her dress, tugging at the hem. He looks away when Jordan starts fixing her hair for her. “See you later, huckleberry. Tell goodnight Momma Friar I – if I don't see you at the end.” She pauses, scrunches her eyebrows, and he refuses to find it adorable. “But switch some words around.”

He nods but he doesn't think she notices, already clasping her hand with Jordan’s to drag him where Riley and Zay are dancing in the middle of the dance floor.

He's been to bars and clubs in the city, but it's different here. There's a sense of familiarity and comfort, one that he can't really find anywhere else. Zay whirls by at one point and introduces him to some people, some he recognizes from high school, others he doesn't. He knows Zay’s trying to get him to feel like he belongs again, and it's nice that he cares that much. But as Lucas’s eyes inevitably end up finding Maya throughout the night, he can't help wondering what else he's missed.

*

“Just spit it out already,” Zay says with an eye roll, chewing absently on his straw. They're at Topanga’s, waiting for Farkle to show up so they can all go catch an afternoon movie. “I know you wanna ask about Maya. God, you’re so pathetic.”

Lucas scoffs, and when Zay just stares at him he scoffs again, with more emphasis. “I don't wanna ask about Maya. I don't wanna talk about her at all. Or even think about her, so just. Let it go.”

“Has anyone ever told you how transparent you are?”

He just grumbles and folds his arms across his chest, sliding lower in his seat. “Whatever.”

“Real mature. I can see you've really grown from your time in the city.” When he doesn't get a reply, he continues. “He's an artist too. Maya's boyfriend.”

“I didn't ask.” But he's sure Zay can see the begrudging curiosity on his face.

“They met last year, when they both got recruited to paint the mural inside the library. Started dating six months later.” Lucas still doesn't say anything. “She's happy, Lucas. They're good together. Don't fuck that up for her.”

He shoots Zay a glare at the implication, and straightens up in his seat. “I would never do that.”

Zay lifts an eyebrow and he knows he's going to bring up exactly how he left, but Farkle strides in before he can.  

He slides in a seat across from Lucas. “Hey, Zay. Hey, Luc –oh god, what's with that face?” He grimaces then. “Found out Maya has a boyfriend, didn't he?”

Zay grins. “Yep.”

“It's a cruel world, my friend,” he says with a solemn shake of his head. “I'm guessing it's time to take a bros vacation to the woods? Is that something men do?”

“I don't know why you guys think I care whether or not Maya has a boyfriend,” he insists, a bit childishly, “because I don't. Not even a little bit. She can do whatever the fuck she wants; it's her life.”

“Right. Just keep talking and you'll convince us of exactly how much you don't care.”

Lucas shoots up from his seat, almost tipping the chair back in his haste. “We gonna see a movie or do you two plan on irritating me all day?”

“Oh, irritating you is definitely a part of today’s agenda,” says Farkle with a grin that Lucas does not appreciate.

“Ah, love the sound of drama and resurfacing old wounds in the morning,” Zay says as he claps Lucas on the back. “Good to have you back, bud.”

*

To his surprise, Maya shows up at his doorstep a few days later with a bottle of wine and their old high school yearbook.

“Oh, good; you're still here. Thought it’d be kinda fun to reminisce a bit,” she explains as they settle in the bench swing out on his porch, her legs folded underneath her sundress. “But we all know nostalgia’s a fucking bitch so that's what the alcohol is for.”

“Smart thinking.”

“It's what I’m best at.”

“I thought it was painting and making grown men cry.”

She gives him a look and says, “I'm obviously a woman of many talents. Don't you remember, or did you suffer from a four-year long amnesia trip?”

They flip open the book to scan the pages then, to laugh at all the bowl cuts and terrible fashion choices of that time. Maya suggests making it into a drinking game: two shots every time the yearbook editor misspelled Farkle’s name, one shot for every Cory Matthews sighting, and another every time Riley’s clearly photobombing a pictured event (varsity cheerleading squad? she never made it, but there she is, stolen pleated skirt and pom-poms in hand; home ec? she's always been terrible at cooking, but there she is, covered in flour to blend in; lacrosse team? never even heard of it until that day, but there she is, with her thumbs in the air and a smile as bright as their neon-colored shorts).

“This makes high school look like it was fun,” she snorts, flipping a page to see a group of seniors from their class participating in a long-held tradition of powderpuff. She catches Lucas in the corner wearing a cheerleading outfit and points it out, slipping way too easily into a perfect  _southern belle of the ball_ accent. “Gosh, I must say, look at the legs on you, cowboy. Super sexy, I'm blushing.”

“I do look good, don't I?” He points at Zay then, who's in the middle of a jump. “He looks better, though, so that's pretty unfair.”

“He's always been better than you in almost every way possible,” she says, shoving his hand out of the way so she can move on to the next page. “That isn't news.”

“Well, you sure don't hold back, do you?”

“Never was one to hold back before so why start now.” Maya turns to the senior portraits then, scanning the faces for familiar ones. “Aha!” she exclaims as she points out her own and then scrunches her eyebrows. “Oh god. Why did anyone let me out of the house that day? I look terrible, Jesus Christ.”

He leans over her shoulder to get a better look. “You look nice; what are you talking about?”

Maya glances at him incredulously. “Nice? Are you _kidding?_ Are we looking at the same picture? I’m the one wondering why in  _gods name_ did I ever think that I could work a bob.” Her eyes find the page again. “At least we're on the same playing field,” she comments, tapping her finger on his picture. “You look terrible too.”

(His is the one right beside hers, like he always has been, ever since middle school.)

They had all gone together to get their senior pictures done at a small studio close to the Matthews’ house, so the six of them piled into Cory’s minivan. Since Lucas’s mom couldn't make it, Riley had been the one to take on the role of exaggeratedly fussing over him: fixing his tie a hundred times even though it'd been fine, making sure there wasn't lint on his suit, stupid shit like that. But right before he went to take his picture Maya came up to him, licked the tips of her fingers and messed with his hair a little bit before sending him off with a cheeky smile and a pat on his back. He hadn't seen the picture until after they'd already gone, and she'd laughed about the Alfalfa curl she'd given him all the way home.

“If it's any consolation, I liked your hair,” he tells her then. “But that's probably because I liked everything about you.”

He feels the shoulder that's pressing into him tense slightly, the knuckles around the neck of the wine bottle white as bone. He's about to blame it on the alcohol when she says, “Aren't you the charmer today.”

Lucas rolls his eyes. “You've always been beautiful. That isn't news either.”

“You think I'm beautiful?” When he looks at her, she's got a shit-eating grin on her face and he wonders why scientists haven't invented time-traveling machines yet so he can go back five seconds and knock himself in the fucking head. He should really talk to Farkle about that.

“You  _know_ that you are, Maya,” he mutters and _she's got a boyfriend she's got a boyfriend she's got a boyfriend_ is a flashing marquee in his head.

“I like how you say it, though,” she says. Her eyes are focused on the page in front of her, her fingertips brushing over the faces of people they haven't seen since high school. Lucas wonders if her hair would be as soft as he remembers if he could reach out and touch it. He thinks it would be. “Like–I don't know. Like it's a scientific fact or something.”

Lucas doesn't respond, because if he does, he just might very well express his undying love to her. Or something as equally stupid.

“You ever going to tell me why you came back?” she asks then, trying way too hard to sound casual. He watches her tuck her bottom lip between her teeth, her hair hiding half her face.

He debates not to, makes up a hundred different excuses, but – this is _Maya._  He's had enough of keeping things from her. “Pappy Joe’s probably dying. He has too much pride and didn't want anyone to know so he asked us not to tell anyone.”

She obviously wasn't expecting that answer, her jaw slack, eyes wide. “God, Lucas, that's terrible. What happened?”

“A lot of health issues, but lung cancer just might take the cake,” he tells her, his hands wringing in his lap. “He has a house nurse that stays with him and takes care of him most of the time. He hates it. He hates that he might have to wear the breathing tube.” Lucas rolls his eyes then. “Says it's because it feels too much like taking handouts.”

“How's Ann doing?” Maya asks. “I would've – I should've visited. I wish I knew.”

“She's okay. Mostly still in denial, I think, but anyway –“ He shakes his head and takes the wine bottle from her hands to take a sip. “Moving on. How's your life?”

“Right.” She allows him to change the subject - she's always been good at that. Knowing what other people needed. He sees her bite her lip again and he almost smooths it out with his thumb. “Before I get into all my tales of fame and success and time spent dodging paparazzi at the grocery store, I feel like I deserve an explanation. Don’t you?”

He shoots her a look as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “About how I left?”

She nods. “That would indeed be the huge elephant in the room I was referring to, yes.”

“You know why I left,” he says stupidly and he doesn't blame her for the anger in her eyes. “Vet school.”

Maya leans back on the bench and runs her tongue over her teeth. “Right. Okay. And the note you left? You remember the one. When you said you were leaving and _maybe we'll see each other again,_  and then you never bothered to call, like, ever. What was that about?”

“It was – complicated,” he mumbles. “I wanted to tell you in person, and I wanted to call, believe me, it was all I ever thought about, but.” He shakes his head, not sure that any excuse will ever be good enough to justify his actions. “We got the news about my grandpa my first year, and I didn't – it was easier to shut myself off, I guess. I never meant to hurt anyone, especially not you. Leaving hurt me too, Maya. And I know that's not an excuse and I know it was shitty of me – “

“Lucas, I get that, I do, and I'm sorry,” she says, an edge to her voice. “But why didn't you _say goodbye."_

“Because – “

“Because _what,_  Lucas.”

“It would've been too hard, okay?” he confesses, stumbling over his words. Stupid alcohol. He's never drinking again. “I realized that I didn't want to go, that I didn't want to leave you. And I knew that if I – that if I saw you, then…Then, I would've convinced myself to stay here. And I couldn't do that. So I had to go, without seeing you.”

Her eyes are soft now, like liquid sapphire, and she leans her head back against the brick wall. “And why is that?” She sounds tired, exasperated, like she already knows the answer but she just needs to hear him say it.

“Because I was in love with you, Maya.”

There's a moment where neither of them say anything, the silence a chasm between them. But then she scoffs. “God, I fuck you one time and you write sonnets about me.”

“Do you forgive me?” His voice is quiet and unsure, hands clasped between his knees.

Maya rolls her head in his direction, heavy-lidded eyelids blinking slowly at him. “You haven't even apologized to me yet.”

“I’ll beg on my knees if I have to.”

She shakes her head. “I don't need that. I just need to hear you say it.”

So he whispers it, spells it out with his finger on her knee, draws it in the dirt with a stick, cups his hands around his mouth to shout it into the woods, scaring off the birds from the tops of the tallest pine trees.

She just rolls her eyes, cracks a smile. “I didn't say you had to be a drama queen about it.”

*

They get back into their old rhythm somewhat easily, like he'd never even left. It trips him up at first because he keeps expecting her to use that against him, so he walks on eggshells around her. But she never mentions it, and they're _okay_. They're okay. He thinks that's maybe more than he deserves.

She invites him to her place one afternoon, when the thunder and lightening chase all the light indoors. It's small, like most things here, but it's lived in and homey and so Maya-esque that it makes his chest ache when he looks around to see pieces of herself scattered around every inch of this space. There’s flowers and potted plants everywhere: succulents in the window sill, olive plants on the coffee table, slightly wilted pink orchids in a Jack Daniels bottle on top of the fridge where sunlight barely reaches. He smiles when he sees open sketchbooks and unfinished paintings lying around, miniature candles in mason jars, brushes in plastic cups half filled with stained water.

“Don't know what I was expecting, honestly,” he says as he makes his way to the couch where she's been sitting. She'd texted him earlier saying she left the door unlocked for him, and he knows it's not a big deal, but it still feels like a step forward. “It's a lot, I don't know, softer than what I would've imagined from you. Nice, though.”

“You can thank Riley for that.”

She turns to grin at him when he sits down next to her and he's momentarily caught off guard when he sees the glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. “I–uh, I didn't know that was a thing.”

Maya starts, her hand flying to her face, like she'd forgotten about the glasses. But then she schools her composure and swipes them off to place them on the coffee table. He doesn't tell her, but he really likes them. “Oh. Yeah, apparently the entire world isn't supposed to be blurry? Who knew? But don't tell anyone; it'll ruin my bad girl rep.”

Lucas grins in response, thinking that her ‘bad girl rep’ was ruined the second she started volunteering her time at a flower shop. “Your secret’s safe with me.” He leans back into the couch, trying his best not to show how nervous he is. “So what are you doing?” He gestures at the small card in her hands.

“It’s the  _Flower of the Day_ for tomorrow,” she tells him and points at the peony sitting next to her. “I write a poem on a card to attach to each of them.”

“Everyday?”

“Yeah. The customers really love it. They don't know if the one they get that day is gonna make them laugh, cry, or all of the above.”

“What's today’s like?” he asks.

Maya shoots him a grin. “You're gonna have to buy one to find out.”

“Tempting.”

She sits there for a while, filling out a hundred tiny cards, sometimes humming under her breath, sometimes catching him up on stories he's missed while he'd been gone.

“You live here alone?” he asks at one point. She made them freshly squeezed lemonade, so he's running his hands up and down the glass, spreading the condensation with each movement.

“Yeah,” she answers without glancing up. “I never thought I’d like it, but it's nice having some place that's just mine, you know? And I'm never lonely; Riley’s pretty much glued to my couch to the point where I'm debating asking her to chip in with the rent money.”

“She’d probably just pay you in flower petals and helpful tips for everyday life.” He clears his throat and sets the glass down so he can twist his fingers in his lap, “So, um. How - where's Jordan?”

She gives him a wry smile, like she sees right through him and he really should be more embarrassed about it, but he's always known she's about the only person in the world who can leave him so transparent. “You trying to steal my boyfriend away from me, cowboy? Gosh, he's such a dreamboat, I should've seen this coming.”

He rolls his eyes and her grin stretches.  

“He's teaching a summer art class for some kids at a youth center right now so he's not here for most of the day,” she tells him, fidgeting with the pen in her hand, and he does his best not to groan.

“God, is there even anything wrong with him?”

Maya laughs. “Not that I’m aware. But I’ll let you know if I find his mom in his basement.”

“Or a couple of human thumbs and vital organs in his fridge.”

She taps her chin. “You know, the soup he made me last night tasted kinda funny.”

It's stupid, really, that he still feels the same way about her fours years later. They’ve both changed, grown up a bit, but she's still Maya, still the same in the ways that matter.  

At some point, rays of light slip through the cracks of gray clouds and drips through her open-curtained window like honey, bathing her in gold. She glances up, the light catching her eyes, all blue-silver glitter. “It's just after 5, so Riley should be coming over soon. Do you wanna stay?”

“If that's okay with you.” He definitely wants to stay. Someone would have to pry him off from this couch with a fork lift.

“Sure. But you're helping with dinner.”

Before he can respond, the door flies open and in glides Riley with her usual smile on her face. “Honey, I’m home!”

“For the last time, Riley, you don't _actually_ live here.”

She scoffs, rolls her eyes and flops down in the seat next to Maya, dropping a kiss to her forehead. “Technicalities. Got you something.” She hands Maya a flower, which she drops in a vase on the coffee table after thanking her. “Hey, Lucas. Didn't know you'd be here or I would've gotten a flower for you too.”

“It's fine. Maya was lonely and I was the only person who wasn't busy.”

“Glad you could keep her company then,” she says, and reaches out to pinch Maya’s cheeks. “She may not admit it but she needs physical contact with a human or she’ll rot and wither away into nothing.”

Maya swats her hands away with a grumble. “God, don't be so dramatic.”

“You finish the poems yet?” she asks and grabs the pile of cards without waiting for a reply, smiling as she flips through them. Riley’s always had this constant buzzing energy around her, ever since middle school, and that hasn't changed since. “So we're going with melancholy today? How original.” To Lucas: “I’m really considering confiscating all of her Edgar Allen Poe poetry books. Did you know she asked me if she could get it signed for her birthday? He's dead, Lucas.”

“I'm gonna go to the bathroom real quick,” says Maya as she stands from the couch, stretching her arms until she hears a pop, “so think about what you guys wanna do for food so we don’t waste all our time sitting here trying to decide.”

Lucas watches her as she walks into her bedroom, doesn't even realize he's doing it until Riley speaks up and pulls his attention away.

“So,” Riley says, without looking up from thumbing through the cards, “still pathetically in love with Maya, huh?”

“Can you really tell? I was trying to be casual about it.”

She looks up then and laughs. “You're good at being casual about literally everything else but this.”

“Yeah, that's fair. Don't tell her, okay?”

“Of course I won't. She's got a good thing going, finally.”

“So I've heard.” He clasps his hands together again. “I'm glad. All I ever want is for her to be happy, and she is, so. That's good.”

He's not lying—he  _is_ glad that she's happy. There's nothing he wants more than that. But sometimes he wishes that it was him making her that way. He realizes how selfish that sounds.

Riley pats his arm in sympathy before chucking his chin. “Work on your poker face, buddy.”

“Yeah, I'll try.”

*

Lucas stops by _Good Morning, Glory_ one afternoon to buy the flower of the day, a periwinkle, and denies it when Riley asks if he's getting it just to read Maya's poem. Because he's not. He's supporting Riley’s career, and he'd appreciate it if she didn't question his motives.

He isn't really expecting Maya to be sitting at his kitchen table talking to his mother when he gets home, but Maya’s always been good at not doing what he expects.

“Oh, hey. What are you doing here?”

She grins. “Your mother makes the best muffins, and I like your face. What's that?”

He looks down at the flower in his hand and feels warmth on his cheeks, like he's just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “A periwinkle. Did you know that Europeans apparently thought that it could get rid of evil spirits? And they're good for helping with menstrual pain – Riley told me. So, uh – here. Thought it could do you some good.”

He really wishes he could hide under the floorboards or stick his head in a hot oven or – _something._  Anything would be less painful than this, honestly.

Maya’s grinning at him, unabashed, and accepts the flower he thrusted in her general direction. “You got me a flower?”

He didn't, actually, but the alternative is even more embarrassing. He’s at least grateful that he had already pocketed her poem. “I was just supporting Riley, and I know how you are about flowers. I thought you could add this to your collection.”

“You didn't have to. You know Riley gets me one every day, right?”

He shrugs, huffs. “I can take it back if you don't want it.”

Her grin widens, if that’s even possible, and she hides the flower behind her back and out of his reach. “Not a chance. I'm gonna keep it forever. I can't believe you got me a _flower."_

“God, don't make a big deal out of it,” he groans and slumps in the seat across from her. His mom is looking on with thinly veiled amusement.

“You don't get it. You got me a flower for my _menstrual cramps._ That's adorable.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Lucas!” his mom interjects with a gasp, finally. “I know that is not how I raised you to talk to women.”

Maya smirks, looking smug as hell across from him.

“Sorry, momma,” he grumbles. She just clicks her tongue and tells them she'll be in the living room if they need her. “So what are you doing here?” he asks when he's sure his mom isn't within hearing distance.

“I came to see how your Pappy Joe was doing,” she tells him as she picks at the crumbs of the banana walnut muffin his mother baked that morning. “I'm still his favorite, obviously.”

“No need to pour salt on the wound.”

She frowns then. “He's not doing so good.”

“No,” he agrees. “He's not.” When she doesn't say anything else, he asks, “You wanna get out of here?”

“Sure,” she says as they stand up. “But only if you wear that super cute cheerleading outfit.”

He bumps his shoulder into hers and she barks out a laugh before they close the door behind them.

They get into his truck and he drives them to the lake a few minutes down the road. They used to go there a lot, sometimes just him and Maya, most times the six of them. Once a year the town set up a bonfire night at the lake for the kids and teenagers, which was mostly just an excuse for all the adults to have a night for themselves, but that was fine for them. He kissed her, here, by the huge oak tree, for the first time when they were seventeen and a little too drunk on strawberry Smirnoff. He doesn't even know if she remembers that, but strawberries have never tasted the same to him since then.

Lucas parks the truck in the dirt pathway and they hop out. Maya sits close to the water’s edge and he sits down next to her, mindful of keeping a careful distance between them. He doesn't want her to think that he doesn't respect the fact that she has a boyfriend. A flower is just a flower.

“Remember when we were thirteen and it was the middle of December and you'd just come from Texas,” she begins, resting her chin in her palms, and he nods. “This is where we first met you, because you were so excited to see real snow, and you thought it'd be a good idea to skate on the lake.”

That's the first memory he has of Maya, the first time he ever saw her, sitting on a bench wrapped in a pea coat and a red scarf, snowflakes catching in her hair, cheeks and nose pink and flushed from the cold. Riley and Farkle had been there, too, stumbling their way on the ice together. He'd never imagined that they'd become the most important people in his life. “I was trying to impress you.”

“I don't remember being impressed. I do remember you falling on your ass a few thousand times, though.”

He remembers her laughing at him with her head thrown back, remembers it being the best sound he's ever heard in his life. Remembers thinking he wants to do anything he can to hear it again and again. “You're hard to please.”

“Not really. Your embarrassment causes me joy.”

“I appreciate the honesty.”

She turns her head to grin at him, all teeth. “And here I am, thinking you were some kind of all-star athlete.”

“Only when there are balls involved.”

“God, you make it too easy sometimes.”

“What – “ he stops when he realizes what he said, finds he's warm down to his neck. “Jesus, Maya.”

“I'm kidding, obviously. We've already established that you're straight when Zay brought his first boyfriend over for a Christmas party our junior year and you thought he was his cousin. Compulsory heteronormativity and all that nonsense.”

“It was an honest mistake,” he grumbles. “I told him I was sorry and he and Riley made me read that Adrienne Rich article until I memorized it.”

Maya bumps her knee into his. “I know, it's fine.” She brightens then, eyes glittering with mirth and light. “Hey, I bet you twenty bucks I can beat you in basketball. Did you know I play basketball now? Yeah, I'm real good; you've got serious competition.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Really? Are you lying?”

“Why don't you find out?”

Lucas stares at her for a while, and then stands up, wiping the dirt from the back of his jeans. “Okay. Prove it.”

Which is how they end up at a basketball court in a park near Maya’s apartment, her hair tied in a bun that keeps falling out, her shirt in a knot behind her back. Maya steals the ball from Lucas with minimal energy, shoving him in the chest when she thinks he's going too easy on her, not letting him slack off just because this is his forte.

Once he realizes that she gives as good as she gets, he actually has to put in effort to beat her. She's never made it easy for him.

It's like how everything always is with them: a game with an equal amount of give and take, a world reduced to the blue of her eyes and the mischief in her smile, because she knows she's won when he loses concentration and his step falters just enough to give her an advantage.

“Okay, I hate to admit it, but,” he pants as he signals for a time out and tries to catch his breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“I’d love to hear you admit it.”

He grins and rolls his eyes, resting his palms on his knees. “You're pretty awesome, Maya.”

She lifts one shoulder. The moisture curls the hairs at the nape of her neck, her shirt sticking to her skin, and he's doing a good job of pretending he doesn't notice. “Women’s college basketball team. MVP four years running. The Matthews would be proud. Round two?”

“Double or nothing.”

By the end of the day, Lucas owes her two hundred bucks. He's not even really that upset about it.

*

It's good for a couple of weeks, and then it's not.

Lucas spends most of his time with Maya and Riley either at Maya's place or _Good Morning, Glory_ when he's not at home watching over Pappy Joe and filling out paperwork for med school. Sometimes Jordan visits them there, charming everyone with his wit and unfairly good looks and Lucas has to pretend he's adjusting the flower arrangements, knowing Riley’s only going to have to fix them back up later.

He actually gets to know Jordan a little bit—learns that he's from California, took up music as a hobby when he was in high school, but art is where his heart is. He travels to Cambodia and Nigeria to visit family when he can, takes care of his younger sister when his parents are out of town on business, volunteers anywhere possible, to help as many people as he can. He's a _saint._ The Mr. Perfect Lucas could only ever dream of being.

It surprises Lucas when he actually starts to like Jordan, when he agrees to play football with him when they both have a free afternoon. He's good, but Lucas is glad to find that he's just a little better. And that's only because he actually religiously played during school. This is just something Jordan likes to do for fun, to pass time.

The fact that Jordan’s absolutely the perfect guy for Maya, and in general, starts to lose its sting the more time he spends with him.

But then he finds Maya crying on Riley’s shoulder when he walks into the flower shop one day, and he sees white.

She's quick in composing herself, though, wiping the tears from the corner of her eyes, shoots him a grin as she brushes past him. “Cowboy,” she acknowledges, and then she's gone.

He turns to see Riley’s back to him, messing with the pots sitting on a random shelf. “What was that about?”

“Nothing. Don't worry about it.”

“Riley, she was crying.” A fist clutches itself around his lungs. “Why?”

“It's not my place to tell you, Lucas,” she says, and it infuriates him. He doesn't ever remember her respecting other people’s boundaries before. “Don't ask me about her business.”

“Did Jordan do something?”

She turns then, places a hand on her hip and stares him down. Riley’s always had a fierce determination that intimated him. “Wouldn't you like that to be the case.”

“No, I wouldn't,” he tells her, an edge to his voice. “Not if she's hurting.”

“I'm handling it,” Riley says and then turns back around. “Anyway, I'm closing shop early, so you have to leave. Please.”

Lucas doesn't move out of the way for a moment and he's sure Riley's about to club him on the head with a gardening hoe when her eyes soften. “Just don't do anything stupid.”

He leaves the shop then, debates on going home or going to Maya’s, but his feet decide faster than his brain because fifteen minutes later he's standing outside her building. Before he loses his courage, he steps into the elevator and counts the seconds before he's at her door.

It's unlocked, surprisingly, but he knocks before letting himself in. Maya's already half-way out of her room when she sees him and stops short. “I thought you were – never mind. What are you doing here?”

She's been crying, still. Her eyes are still red, dried tear stained tracks down her cheeks. He wants to hold her. He keeps his hands in his pockets. “You flew out of there crying. You really didn't think I wouldn't come to check on you, did you?”

“I'm fine, Lucas,” she tells him, padding over to the kitchen. He doesn't miss the crack in her voice that breaks his name in half, but if she doesn't mention it neither will he. She grabs two mugs from the pantry, places the one without the chipped handle on the counter for him. “Want some tea?”

“Sure,” he says, even though he hates the stuff, and sits on a stool to watch her put the kettle on the stove. She stares at it until the water starts to boil, and he's dying for her to say something but he'll wait as long as he has to. “My – uh, Pappy Joe was asking about you today. Asked when you’ll visit again.”

It pulls a smile from her lips, which he's thankful for. She's dropping a tea bag into each mug when she says, “Your mother promised me brownies for the next time I'm there.”

“So Friday then? You'll break her heart if you don't show up.”

Maya scoots his mug over to him. “Thanks for checking in on me.”

“You can talk to me, you know,” he tells her. “I know I've been bad at that lately, that's my fault, but it's always something we've been good at – before.”

“I know.” She leans her elbows on the counter and lets her head hang between her shoulders before looking up at him again. “Thanks. But I think it's something I should talk to Riley about, though. Her being unbiased and all.”

“Unbiased about what?”

“Well, she's never been in love with me, for starters,” she says, a wry grin on her face. “At least not that I'm aware.”

“Oh. So this is about Jordan?” he asks and he really tries not to let his anger show, but she's always been good at reading him.

“It's complicated,” she answers vaguely, and then sighs, running her hands through her hair. “Sometimes two people love each other, but aren't meant to be together, you know?”

Lucas swallows a few times before he speaks. “I thought you and Jordan were perfect for each other.”

Maya laughs, short and bitter, and shakes her head like it's something so unfathomable. “Didn't everyone?”

They drink their tea in companionable silence after that, because if there's one thing Lucas is good at, it’s being there for her. He doesn't ask what's going on with her and Jordan, doesn't really want to know if she's not willing to share. All he really cares about at the moment is that when he complained about his tea being gross (“It's  _summer,_  Maya, why are we even drinking hot leaf water anyway? Who are you?”), Maya flipped him off and poured at least a third cup of sugar into his mug with a shit-eating grin on her face. She's still herself, that's what matters in the end.

“He's probably gonna come over soon,” she announces, quietly, while they're sitting on her couch. He put on a movie for them to watch but he doesn't think she’s been, understandably, paying that much attention.  

“Right, yeah.” He stands up and rubs the back of his neck before making his way to her front door. “Lemme know if you ever need anything.”

“Hey, Lucas,” she calls out. Maya’s curled up in a fleece blanket with frayed edges, looking small and vulnerable, glasses perched at the end of her nose that she only ever wears around him. But she's smiling at him, and it lights up her whole face. “This is seriously gonna bruise my ego and I will never show my face to anyone ever again if you tell, but—thanks.”

“Sure.” He can't help but smile in return, a common response when it comes to her if he's being completely honest with himself. “Yeah, anytime.”

*

Pappy Joe’s admitted to the hospital a month and a half later, which means Lucas spends most of his time there now. He already told all of his friends by then what's been going on with his grandfather’s health, when he couldn't hide the fact that he's been having to go pick up his prescription at the pharmacy several times, because the ladies behind the counter sure do love to gossip.

They send their condolences, his friends, and drop by the hospital with food Zay’s mother made and sugar cookies Riley baked. Maya showed up a few times during the past weeks, only dropping by to say a few words to his grandpa, so he barely saw her. He knows she's going through some shit, having broken up with Jordan a few weeks back, so he'd texted her saying that he'd be there for her if she wanted. She replied with a  _thx but i'm good, hicks_ and a winky face at the end. Lucas doesn't believe her--she's never sent him a winky face in her entire life--but he respects her space.

He's just about to fall asleep in the chair next to his grandpa’s bed when he's startled upright by violent coughing. He rushes over to him, frantic, asking him what he's supposed to do, but his Pappy Joe just waves him away until his fit dies down. He wipes his mouth with a handkerchief and swallows down a glass of water. He looks so much older than he is.

“Jesus,” he croaks. “Thought I hacked up a lung. Probably be better than the current situation, don't you think?”

Lucas presses his lips together.

“Huh. Guess I'm losing my sense of humor too. How's your girl doing? She always laughs at my jokes.”

“What do the doctors say? No one’s telling me anything.”

“Ah, nothing too bad.” He reaches for his glass of water before falling into a coughing fit again. “They say I probably gotta do chemo. Probably radiation therapy too.”

Lucas leans back in the chair and closes his eyes. “Do they think it'll work for you?”

“We’ll see, I guess,” he answers with a shrug. Lucas doesn't know how he can be so blasé about this. Their relationship has always been strained at best, but he never wanted to see his grandfather fighting for his health on a hospital bed.

Maya’s there when he gets back home that night, sitting at his kitchen table like she had been before, sticking her hand in a box of corn flakes and throwing the dry cereal into her mouth. He should've been surprised considering he hadn't seen her in a while, but this isn't really anything new.

“My momma give you your own key or what?” he greets, opening the fridge to grab two bottles of beer, handing one over to Maya. She takes it with a smile, her cheeks full and eyes squinted.

“If you wanted it to stay discreet, I’m not sure why you would hide it underneath the cactus pot, dumbass,” she answers, chugging down beer with the cereal still in her mouth. “That’s like the first place anyone would think to look.”

“That's disgusting,” he says as he eyes her with a grimace, ignoring her response. “Jesus, when was the last time your gag reflexes actually worked?”

“Eleven years ago.”

“So, anyway,” he shakes his head and sits down in a chair across from her, running his fingers up and down the body of the bottle as he considers her, “how are you doing?”

She stops chewing momentarily to glance up at him, unceremoniously wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “I thought we already filled our quota for heart-to-heart conversations.”

“No. I just said that you could talk to me, but we haven't really had a conversation about anything yet.”

“Sure we have. Just last week we had that scintillating creative discussion about the human anatomy.”

“No,  _again,"_  he disagrees. “I told you a dumb pun that Zay told me and you yelled at me about it for half an hour. How's your sore throat, by the way?"

Maya leans back in the chair, placing her beer bottle down with a dull thud. “Okay, Mr. Nosy McNosy Pants.” Lucas rolls his eyes and refrains from adding commentary. “So I'm assuming you wanna know what happened with Jordan?”

That would be a correct and obvious assumption. Her ex-boyfriend’s name isn't ever brought up anymore, and he never sees him around in the flower shop, or the park where they used to throw around his football for a few hours. If Zay and Farkle know anything, they're not spilling, and there's no chance in all of the seven circles of hell that Riley will tell him. Lucas can tell that it's taken a toll on Maya – she really loved him, that much was clear. But she won't  _talk_ to him about it.

Then he realizes after her sixth visit in the span of two weeks that her coming over his house and eating all of his food is her way of getting his comfort without having to ask for it. She knows he won't push her and he lets her grow comfortable in his space until she feels like she’s ready to talk.

It still takes a while for her to open up to him, and he knows that’s his own fault, but eventually she tells him that, as much as she and Jordan loved each other and as much as he made her happy, there really wasn't a future for them anymore. She saw an acceptance letter sitting on his desk a few weeks back from his dream school in California, a letter that he didn't bother to tell her about. They haven’t had the time to see each other as much as they'd like to, but she always figured that he'd at least call her with major news like that.

They'd been drifting apart for a while now, but they had painted this picture of a perfect couple for so long that no one besides Riley ever questioned it.

“We made all these plans, you know,” she tells him, without looking at him. “We talked about traveling the Americas, backpacking through Europe, owning a gallery together, buying a small place in New York City that we probably wouldn't even be able to afford. Some things just don't work out, I guess. I would never keep him from going to his dream school.”

“But that doesn't mean you give up hope,” he says, because he knows she's always had trouble feeling like she deserves things.

She shakes her head. “It's no big deal. We'd only been together six months anyway.”

“That's still a long time. And you've known him for a year,” he reminds her, like she could forget. “You're allowed to be sad about it.”

She chews on her lower lip, as she does when she's anxious or trying to compartmentalize her feelings. “It's fine; I’ll get over it. It was always a miracle he went out with me anyway.”

“That's bullshit, what the fuck are you even talking about. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Maya gives him a brief half-smile before pretending to gag. She's going to be fine.

*

They help each other out after that.

He leaves an extra key out for her underneath the bench swing for whenever she needs to come over, starts stocking up on trail mix and orange soda, steals his mother’s snickerdoodle recipe so he can bake her cookies. Sometimes he'll come home and find her lying on his bed, chewing on a cherry stem, his music playing through the speakers in the background like she's in some tacky coming-of-age 90s film. She’ll tell him his taste in music sucks and then they'll lapse into silence after that. He doesn't mind it, though. It gives him time to fill out his school applications and search for jobs online while she's filling up empty pages in her sketchbook.

She drives him to the hospital on the weekends, a stack of puzzles and board games sitting on his lap, a half empty bag of dried mango slices in hers. On these days, it seems like her laughter is his own personal remedy, and she knows it too. She'd sing along to her terrible 90s rock music on the way there while he pretended to hate it. When they'd get to the hospital, he'd set up the board game and she'd toss a carton of cigarettes on Pappy Joe’s chest, only for him to find out that it's empty.

“Cruel,” he'd say to her, with a smile on his face, but he still falls for it every time.

They're good at this, at being there for each other. They always have been.

*

There's a trashy pop song playing in the background when he lets himself in. She's in her room, a paintbrush in her hand, her hair falling out of her bun and into her face, clothes covered in blues and reds because she never bothers to wear a smock anymore.

"Since when do you listen to this kind of music? Who is this anyway? Katy Perry?"

"I hope you know that you just insulted me and pop music icon Carly Rae Jepson, wherever she is in the world right now. You should be ashamed."

He rolls his eyes, definitely not ashamed, and takes a look around before making himself comfortable on her bed. “You've been painting a lot recently.”

Maya shrugs and stands up to stretch, her oversized shirt slipping from her shoulder. “It's how I get my feelings out and shit. You know. Like how you beat the shit out of a baseball with a bat. Same principle.”

“Sure, makes sense. It also helps that you get paid for essentially keeping a diary.”

Her grin is instantaneous. “That too.”

“So what's the deal if, like, I see Jordan around town. Do I tell you? Or act like it didn't happen?”

Maya turns to him and he almost regrets bringing it up until she shrugs and squats back down to collect the brushes and pallets from the floor. “Doesn't matter. Did you see him today, is that why you're asking?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat and swings his legs over the bed. “Aisle 4. He was shopping for almond milk.”

She mutters, “Groundbreaking update.”

He rolls his eyes but he's glad that she doesn't seem to be as wrecked as she was before when she'd seen him two weeks prior buying bread. She'd cursed all the way home about how this tiny ass town needs to have more than one goddamn grocery store, and then locked herself in the bathroom for two hours. He hadn't known what to do at that point so he'd called Riley to come over and help.

“And how about me? Do you want me to tell you if I see him kicking around a soccer ball with another guy?” she asks, teasing, “or will that shatter your fragile, bleeding heart?”

“I think I’ll survive,” he says, “but I may need a hug and a bottle of tequila until I get over it.”

“We’ll get through this together, huckleberry,” she answers as she cleans her supplies. “What's that song about time healing all wounds?”

He's about to reply when his eyes catch something on her desk. It looks like a bulletin board with a bunch of randomly placed pieces of paper, news clippings, flyers. “Hey, what’s this?”

She glances over her shoulder before jumping up from her seated position with an “oh!” to sit down next to him on the bed. She's got this shine in her eyes that brightens her entire face when she's excited about something. “A project I’ve been working on for a while. It’s called _Missed Opportunities._ All the things I wish I could've done if I hadn't been too scared or too busy or too lazy to do.” She points at a flyer advertising some art fair in the area from two years ago. “I could've had the chance to show my stuff there, but I had some excuse not to go, even though Riley pushed me for weeks. I don't even remember what the excuse was. But it turns out that some agencies went and a lot of local artists got recognition for their work. One of them could've been me.”

Lucas hums in response, impressed, always impressed by her. He sees a business card, taped back together after being ripped in half, a ripped edge of a napkin with a smudged phone number but nothing else, a crumpled up flyer about a music festival, and he recognizes Maya’s favorite band in the list of names. And then he sees plane tickets. One way, to New York. Dated three years ago.

He's not sure if she wants to know that he noticed them, but his face must give him away because she clears her throat and says, “I packed my bags and everything. I was so ready.”

“What stopped you?” He’s surprised how even his voice sounds.

“I figured if you wanted to talk to me, you would have.”

“I'm sorry,” he whispers, not knowing what else to say.

“I know. But can you imagine? Me, running through the airport, expecting to see you there like we were in some kind of shitty, unrealistic rom-com, even though there was no way for you to know I was even there. How was I going to even find you after that? I didn't think any of it through. Riley’s romanticism was rubbing off on me.”

He swallows several times before asking, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you buy these tickets? Why were you going to New York?”

“Jesus, do you even pay attention to anything I say? I just told you.”

“Maya, why.”

“Because I wanted to see you. Because I missed you.” She says this so easily, without hesitation, so far from where they were before, when they couldn't admit their feelings without hiding it behind some half-assed excuses. “Believe it or not, you meant something to me.”

He doesn't deserve her, he never has. She was willing to hop on a plane to see him, but he had planted seeds of doubt in her mind that he didn't care about her as much as she cared about him.

“Remember when you asked me if I had any girlfriends?”

Maya nods, furrows her eyebrows at the sudden change in topic.

“I had one, my second year,” he starts after a moment, his hands folded in his lap. “Her name was Kat. She had dark, almost black hair. Brown eyes. Tan, from being out in the sun too long. She liked to read books, a whole lot of them. Couldn't find a place to stand in her room because she had too many lying around. She liked going to ballets and operas and Shakespeare plays, made me go with her sometimes even though she knew I didn't care for it. She was strong and beautiful, like you. But that's where the similarities end. I dated her because she was nothing like you, because I wanted to get you of my goddamn head. The only problem was that of course it didn't work. I kept thinking about you anyway, about how so completely different you guys were. That wasn't fair to her at all.”

Maya stays quiet as she listens, eyes locked on his profile because he's too much of a coward to look at her.

“I fooled myself into thinking I could date her for two months before I realized what I was doing. I didn't think I could ever deserve you after that.”

“You don't get to decide what I deserve or not,” she tells him, quietly but firmly.

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“Jesus, if I have to hear you apologize one more goddamn time,” she mutters with an eye roll before grasping one of his hands in hers. “I’ve already forgiven you, asshole. Even before you apologized.”

He really, completely does not deserve her.

There’s nothing about Jordan on the board, so he figures it's because she's got nothing to regret in the time she'd been with him. He wishes he could say the same about Kat.

Clearing his throat, he says, “It’s – this is a cool project. You're really good at this kind of stuff – you know, the right-brain stuff. I could never.”

When he finally looks at her, she's grinning from ear to ear, her eyes squinting and crinkling at the corners, absolutely and without a doubt his favorite face in the world. Lucas remembers reading about the five types of love languages in one of his elective sociology classes back in college. Maya's love language has always been words of affirmation. He’s always been happy to give that to her, especially if it makes her look like that.

*

“Please don't cut yourself, I don't need blood on the kitchen counter.”

Maya just rolls her eyes and kicks her legs back and forth. She’s sitting on top of the counter, peeling an orange with her fingers with a knife between her teeth because her favorite thing to do is give him daily anxiety attacks. It's fall now, the air crisp enough for her to wear boots and fishnets under her shorts, and a light jacket that he's sure she's had since middle school.

“Lighten up, cowboy,” she mumbles around the knife. Having had enough, he plucks it out of her mouth and tosses it into the sink to prevent an accident. “Think about it this way: if I die, you can have my most prized possession.”

“Which is what? Your Beatles vinyl?”

“My Paco’s Tacos rewards card.”

“God, you're so annoying. What was the emergency?” he asks, glaring at her as she throws orange peels at his chest.

“What?”

“You called me and said that you had to come over immediately because of an emergency,” he reminds her.

“Oh. Riley's on a date so I was bored,” she says, as if her urgency on the phone didn't leave him conjuring up a thousand possible scenarios, most of which ended up with someone dying.

“Jesus, Maya,” he mumbles, but doesn't reprimand her because there really would be no point.  

She grins unabashedly. “Sorry if I scared you.”

“Yeah, that was really convincing.”

“I might have to stay awhile,” she tells him, suckling orange juice from her thumb. “Charlie took her out so you know he's got an entire day planned out for them, and Farkle and Smackle are taking Zay to some nerd convention. The only way I could get out of that snooze fest was to say that I already had plans with you.”

“You could just stay home, you know,” he says. “How would they find out?”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn't be able to see all the heart attacks I give you in person, so where's the fun in that?”

“You are pretty good at that.”

“An expert, really. Pretty much invented it.”  

He doesn't realize he's been messing with the small hole in her tights right above her knee cap until she covers her hand over his, pulling it away. Embarrassed, he's about to apologize when she smooths his hand palm faced up, and presses a kiss right in the middle. Lucas doesn't breathe until she glances up at him to shoot him a grin, smug as shit, and he contemplates shoving her off the counter.

“Exhibit A,” she murmurs.

“You're incorrigible.”

“Sure, I am. Definition, please?”

Lucas leans forward until their noses are brushing, bumps his against hers, flattening his palms on the counter to frame her thighs. This is dangerous territory, he knows this. “Unapologetic. Unashamed.”

“Hm, sounds like me.”

He shakes his head and lets out a short laugh.

She's grinning when she says, “I’m totally winning. Whatever this game is that we're playing – I’m winning it.”

“What makes you say that?” he asks, although he knows exactly what she's talking about when her finger trails down his collarbone, his sternum, pops open the first few buttons of his flannel, and he doesn't let himself breathe.

It takes a lot of willpower, but he moves back away from her, almost missing the look of disappointment on her face that she quickly hides if he hadn't been paying attention. He buttons his shirt back up, concentrating really hard on not letting his fingers shake. Fucking Maya Hart.

“What's that?” he asks when he looks at her, and pokes at her cheek. “Did I make you blush? That's cute.”

“What's another word for ridiculously annoying?” she says, shoving at his chest, and he laughs.

“What do you wanna do today?” he asks with a grin, stuffing his hands in his pockets so he doesn't get carried away. “Since you refuse to go home.”

Maya hops off the counter and he watches curiously as she slips out of the kitchen, only to pop her head back in a moment later, with eyebrows raised, to call, “You coming, cowboy?”

*

He should have figured it was an interrogation earlier, honestly.

“What's going on with you and Maya?” Zay asks off the bat, as soon as he sits down in the seat across from him.

“Hey, hello, it's nice to see you too, how are you this morning?” he says instead, packing as much sarcasm into the statement as he can.

"Answer the question, Friar." Farkle leans forward, his eyes sharp, hands gripping the edge of the table. “What are your intentions with Maya Hart?”

Lucas rolls his eyes and leans back in his seat before raising an eyebrow at them. He hopes it conveys how ridiculous he thinks this is. “Nice day for a walk outside, don't you think? Why don't you guys come back in when you've got your head right.”

“We're being serious, Lucas,” Zay says.

“So am I.”

“We just don't want her to get hurt again,” Farkle explains. “She just went through a break up a month ago – “

“You think I don't know that?” He zeros in on them, to make sure that they know that he knows exactly what he's doing. “Who do you think has been there for her the whole time? I have no intention of hurting her. It's not even like that anyway. We're friends.”

“Y'all spend an awful lot of time together for being just friends,” Zay points out. “I haven't seen her without you in a long time.”

Lucas shrugs. “I don't know what to tell you except this is pointless and now I'm annoyed.”

Farkle sighs and turns to Zay. “I told you we should've done the Bad Cop Good Cop routine.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Lucas mutters and stands up, his palms flat on the table. “Are we done here? I have to go – “

“See Maya?”

Lucas resents Zay’s raised eyebrow like he knows what's going on when he _doesn't._

“Yes, even though it’s completely none of your business.”

“Hey, I’m just looking out for her, man,” he says as he puts both of his hands up. “No need to get defensive.”

Lucas visibly deflates. “I know you are. I appreciate that. But we're _just_ _friends_.”

“I believe that you believe that. Are you blushing?”

“Fuck you.”

*

The thing is, Maya and Lucas have never really known how to be “just friends.”

In middle school, he'd had the biggest crush on her that he somehow had managed to hide from everyone except Zay. High school wasn't much better since he figured out that he may actually be completely and totally in love with her, and kissing her that one time that they never spoke of ever again only amplified the feeling.

It didn't help that the entire fucking town could see how he felt about her after that, and teased him about it relentlessly. He’d need to have six other pairs of hands to count how many times he got asked, “so when's the wedding?” every time he and Maya were out together.

Despite that, he actually never meant for this to happen, he swears by it.

But sometimes, when Maya looks at him when she thinks he's not paying attention, he’s almost sure that he might not be the only one who feels this way, that maybe everybody in this nosy ass town were on to something.

The first time they kiss he's pretty sure it's an accident.

Or maybe, it was just – serendipitous. Because he's always thinking about kissing her, but he knows that nothing would ever happen between them for several reasons. Her saint of an ex-boyfriend being number one.

She's sitting on top of the hood of her truck, palms planted behind her as she leans back. It's a late night, the moon kissing the stars hello, and they're both worn out. He started classes already, so, on top of spending most of his free time at the hospital, he's taking at least two courses a day including a lab. It's only been a week but he's already contemplating faking his own death so he doesn't have to continue.

But Maya's been busy too. The town has asked her to work on another project for them, to repaint the walls of their city hall to make it look brand new again. It's only her and three other people, so it's slow-going, especially because she has her own work to do along with it. Whenever he sees her, usually late at night, she always has paint in her hair and stained on her jeans.

“You know what's great about being single?” she asks after stifling a yawn.

He reaches over to pick dried paint from her cheek. “What?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“I don't think you really believe that,” he says with a scoff and a shake of his head.

“How would you know what I really believe?”

“You've always been independent, Maya. I think you just miss the intimacy.”

“Gross.”

“We've done it. We've literally had sex before. With each other. My dick was in your –“

“Yeah, like I could forget,” she mumbles and it surprises him a little. He didn't think she ever gave it much thought.

“So," he hesitates before asking, "me or Jordan?”

“What?”

“Who was better. Me or Jordan?”

She looks over to scrutinize him before laughing so hard she almost rolls off the car. “Are you serious? Like is this a joke right now? I can’t tell with your face like that.”

“What's so funny?”

“God, where to even begin,” she says as she sits up, resting her elbows on her knees. She looks at him over her shoulder again, a laugh bubbling up to the surface but he shoves at her before it could come out. “Are you just so fucking dumb and egotistical that you think I could even begin to compare you two? You and I had sex when we were only seventeen, not to even mention that it was both of our first times and I was crossfaded as fuck. It was completely different with Jordan. I was in love with him. Apples and oranges, cowboy. You should know a thing or two about that.”

“Jesus, was I that bad?”

She punches his thigh. “I was lucky, to have you as my first. It could've been worse.”

He laughs. “Yeah, that's something every guy loves to hear.”

“You were good to me,” she continues. “I could – it was obvious that you cared about me, so. Thanks.”

“Care. I care about you. Present tense.”

She grabs his chin to turn his face towards her. Her truck is idling at the edge of a corn field, far from the street lamps, so the only source of light is coming from the stars above them. It makes her eyes glitter and her hair shine bright, the brightest thing he's ever seen and god. It’s like even the moon is in love with her.

He doesn't move, or breathe, and just as he's thinking he's losing too much oxygen, she lets him go and grins. She must have read something in his face because – “You love me again, huckleberry?”

“Never really stopped.”

Her grin stretches, carving a dimple into her right cheek, and she tilts her head to the side. “I make your little cowboy heart go clippity-clop?”

“It’s more like a thousand stampeding rhinos.”

“Hm. Good to know.”

He doesn't know what she's thinking at the moment, and he's terrified to ask, so he just nods and watches as she leans back on the truck to lie down with her hands behind her head like this is something completely normal. Like he isn't sitting two inches away from her about to have a heart attack.  

It's a little frustrating, actually, that he'd just admitted to still being in love with her and all she had to say about it was  _good_ _to know._ He's a goddamn idiot, just a real fucking moron, for thinking that anything would ever happen between them.

But then she's driving them back to his house a little past three in the morning, humming a song he doesn't recognize that only gets lost in the wind. And then she's parking the truck in his driveway and then she's walking him to his front porch like they're on some kind of fucking _date_ and then she's turning towards him with a sleepy smile on her face.

A real fucking moron.

“I don't think I’ve ever thanked you,” she starts, running her fingers through her hair. Sometimes she lets him play with it when it's just the two of them hanging out and he'd been right before, it's still as soft as he remembers. “You know, for being there and shit after Jordan and I broke up. You're a real trooper, Ranger Rick. Even I wouldn't want to deal with me.”

He shrugs, because it really wasn't a big deal. “See you in the morning? Riley seemed like really intense about getting to trivia on time.”

Maya rolls her eyes. Riley wanted to start a new tradition with everyone, now that Lucas is back in the group again, for good. Smackle had been the one to bring up the idea of meeting up at Riley’s where she'd bring Trivial Pursuit, and they all had just rolled with it. Excluding Maya, who has very strong opinions against anything trivia related. “Yeah. Bright and early, if I haven't already killed myself.”

This is it – this is where things get a little hazy for him. Because one moment, Maya's telling him goodbye and the next – the next she's got one hand on his shoulder and she's rolling forward on her toes so she can reach him.

It doesn't register at first, that she's kissed him, because she steps back almost as soon as she does it. Like she surprised herself.

“Wait,” he mumbles, letting out a nervous chuckle and shakes his head once. “Wait wait wait a second. You really think you can just – “ he huffs, frustrated, “c’mere.”

She doesn't push him away when he places a hand on her waist to pull her forward again, still doesn't say anything when his free hand slides to the back of her neck, or even when his mouth is a breath away from hers.

But - he doesn't kiss her.

“What are you waiting for?” she asks, almost whines, her lips brushing against his. It takes every single cell in his body to hold back.

“For you to realize what's happening.”

“I know what's happening. You need me to fill you in? You're not kissing me. I'm standing here, waiting for you to quit being such a goddamn fucking – “

He laughs, his teeth skimming her bottom lip. He bites down, just a little. “Moron? You were gonna say moron.”

“If you hadn't interrupted me – “

He closes the distance, finally, and she surges up to meet him, her hands circling around his neck as he pushes her up against his front door. She fits easily, her body curving into his like it's meant to be there, and it feels so, so much better than it did when they were seventeen and stupid.

“What's happening here, I'm still pretty confused,” he mumbles in between kissing her.

“My god, shut the fuck up, you're ruining this.”

But he leans his head back to look at her, his entire body still pressed against hers. “I really need you to explain it to me.”

She squints her eyes when she looks at him, like he's just said some real dumbass shit and she's trying to figure out if he's playing her or not. “Hm, well, it's actually pretty simple. You put your mouth on my mouth – “

“You’re doing that on purpose, you know that's not what I meant.”

“You need me to spell it out for you, Cactus Pete? I thought you were supposed to be academically superior. See, this is what happens – when two people really like each other – “

“Ah! That right there. You like me.”

She rolls her eyes then. “Currently on standby.”

“Nope. You just said it. You said, and I quote – “

“God, please don't quote me. Please just shut up and kiss me before I never speak to you ever again in my entire life.”

He doesn't need to be told twice.

*

“Maya, stop messing with the stations, can you just pick one and stick with it?”

“There's literally only country music playing right now and I would rather eat cow shit than listen to that garbage.” She settles on an empty station, static filling the speakers.

“Here's your chance,” he replies as he points out the window where there are dozens of cows roaming around large, open fields. “You want me to pull over?”

“Hey, remember when I said I liked you?” she asks.

He grins, big and goofy. “Yeah.”

“I take it back.”

Lucas briefly takes his attention off the road to give her an unimpressed look before turning back, rolling his eyes when she smirks and tips the brim of an imaginary hat at him.

They're on their way to New York the next summer, just the two of them, with her feet on his dashboard and his hand on her thigh. She took some time off of work and he has a few weeks before he has to get back to town for summer classes, but they'd needed the vacation after the winter they had. Pappy Joe had put up a fight about going through chemo, didn't want to take the risk if the cancer was just going to come back, and he'd heard about people dying earlier from the treatment and not the cancer itself. But Lucas’s mom begged him to, told him that there's a good chance of him living longer if they could just shrink the cancer cell so it doesn't keep on growing. He eventually acquiesced and it’d been on hard on all of them, seeing how much pain Pappy Joe was in during that time. His physical state had grown worse before it could get better.

Lucas didn't think they'd ever hear the words _partial_ _remission,_ and once he did, he thought he was dreaming for a solid minute. Pappy Joe’s doing a lot better now, up and walking and cracking inappropriate jokes at Lucas’s expense. He still puts up a fight every time he has to go to check ups, but they had all expected that much.  

Maya had been there through it all, trying to keep the atmosphere as light as possible and he'd appreciated that, they all did. He doesn't know what he would have done if she wasn't there. Probably would've lost his goddamn mind.

Her art had taken off too. Jordan had a few connections to curators in New York and pulled some strings to get her an interview up there. So this trip really isn't just a simple vacation for her.

“So what do you think about moving back to New York?” she asks, once they pass the _Welcome to Connecticut_ sign. Riley had given her a bunch of flowers as a departing gift and wove them all in Maya's hair, which is shorter now, just barely reaching her shoulders. “You know, with me.”

He looks over at her, a smile pulling at his mouth as she fidgets with her hands, like she thinks he'd actually say _no,_ before hiding them under the sleeves of her black leather jacket. He thinks it might be his, actually. “Eh. I'd have to think about it.”

She glances up at him, and once she sees that he's joking, she rolls her eyes. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

“Once I finish med school back home, make sure Pappy Joe's doing alright,” he tells her. “I think that sounds like a pretty decent plan.”

“You've still got a few years left,” she says and, despite her nonchalant composure, he can tell she's a little anxious. “And if I get the job there, they might want me to start right away. We'd have to be apart again."

He reaches over and grabs her hand, squeezing firmly, and she expels a breath like she'd been holding it for too long. “It'll be okay. I’ll visit so much you’ll get sick of me. And, you know, there's also this new invention called facetime? Maybe you've heard of it.”

She punches his arm and mutters, “smart ass” under her breath. But she leans her head on his shoulder anyway, doesn't care if the position’s uncomfortable or if it hurts her neck. He's right, they'd gone through this before, so they can go through it again if they have to. Except this time it’ll be different because she knows where they stand, she knows that he's not going anywhere, she knows that whatever happens they have each other, that they will always have each other, and that's love. That's love.

**Author's Note:**

> lemme know what yall think


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